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Sunday, June 19, 2011

Alfred Kreymborg JACK'S HOUSE

JACK'S HOUSE(A Cubic-Play)by Alfred Kreymborg

(Before the rise of the curtain, a fantastic cartoon in a design of squares, triangles, rhomboids, etc., Jack is singing lustily:)I-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi-love-her-mi-fa-sol-la-sol-fa-and-she-sol-la-ci-do-ci-la-loves-ci-do-ci-la-sol-fa-mi-loves-me-re-mi-re-do-And-we-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi-love-us-re-mi-fa-mi-we-do.(After a short silence, the curtain rises—disclosing one small room. It contains one table, one chair, one couch, one cooking stove, on which one kettle is boil¬ing—all of them small, except the chair. It has one bare window, one door—both small. Also one broom—which is large. Jack is sitting behind the table. Large square-rimmed spectacles rest on the tip of his nose as he studies a page of a ponderous volume across which may be read the words, HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS. Throughout the play, Jack's Wife does not speak; the character of her dialogue is suggested by her pantomime. Jack addresses practically the whole of his speech to the audience. His gesticula¬tion is geometrical. As the play progresses, his Wife begins unconsciously to imitate him.)Two and two are four,four and six are ten,ten and two are twelve,twelve and nine are twenty-one—twenty-one—Wife is only twenty—twenty-one—twenty-one and seven—oh how I hope—twenty-one and seven—twenty-nine—oh how I hope—carry two—I hope shell do the housework soon.Two and three are five,five and four are nine—mending cushions—nine and one—curtains—I wonder will she—nine and one—meals—I wonder will—and one is ten and two is twelve and nine—house without housework is no house at all—twenty-one again—carry two.Two and four is—(Jack is interrupted by the sound of a step. He shuts the book, quickly puts it away in the drawer of the table, hurries to the kettle and begins to stir its contents with a large wooden spoon. Jack's Wife enters. Adorable—might describe her. Dainty panto¬mime of greetings. Jack is most solicitous in aiding her with the removal of her hat. Presently, he leads her to two unfinished cushions which lie on the couch, and indicates that she should busy herself with them. She stubbornly shakes her head. He indicates some yellow curtains—likewise on the couch. She is still more stubborn. He indicates the wooden spoon, and stirs the contents of the kettle with truly magic persuasiveness. She turns her back on him. He leads her gently to the table, opens the drawer and indulges a pantomime of setting the table. She refuses the invitation. Jack seems in despair, but a sign of extraordinary good cheer not unmixed with whimsic shrewdness, breaks his mood. He takes his Wife's hands, and intones:)Love, Hebe, amore, amourwas a dear little wordfor to win a lady,love, Hebe, amore, amourwas a dear little wordfor to win a lord.Now take her hand,and you take his,and move about in a quaint little rhomboid,or move about in a square or circle—a square or circle is pretty, my dears!Shall it be a valse,or shall it be a saraband?Why not try a minuet,gigue or polonaise?Don't you mind false steps,or who plays, accompaniment—the dear little tune is ever the same:Love, Hebe, amore, amouris a dear little wordfor to hold a lady,love, Hebe, amore, amouris a dear little wordfor to hold a lord.(Before the close of the dance, it becomes evident that Jack's Wife is more responsive to his suggestions. He leads her back to the table; this time he takes vari¬ous imaginary articles, carefully, one by one, from the drawer. Reluctantly, only, does she place them as he indicates. It is easy to intimate that if the articles were real, instead of imaginary, she would have de¬nied her share in the performance.)We have no dishesto eat our meals from.We have no dishesto eat our meals frombecause we have no dishesto eat our meals from.We have no dishesto eat our meals frombecause we can afford nodishes to eat our meals from.When we can afforddishes to eat our meals fromwe will have dishesto eat our meals from.We need no dishesto eat our meals from,we have fingersto eat our meals from.(Jack challenges the audience with a vehement nod. His Wife does the same with a nod less vehement. He places the chair ceremoniously for her to sit on, and returns to the kettle. Presently he brings the imaginary repast; sets it on the table, and after much lofty manoeuvring of helpings, sits down on the same chair, as his Wife makes room for him with tender alacrity. Imaginary eating follows. Jack, with a deal of scorn:)We have a one-room home.You have a two-room, three-room, four-room.We have a one-room homebecause a one-room home holds all we have.We have a one-room homebecause we do not wanta two-room, three-room, four-room.If we had a two-room, three-room, four-roomwe would need more than a one-room home.We have a one-room home.We like a one-room home.(Apparently, Jack's Wife acquiesces in this pronouncement. But as Jack rises and indicates the pres¬ence of the next household problem, she rises and backs away from the table. He illustrates his argu¬ment by going from table to kettle and back again, carrying the imaginary dishes—but without prevailing. He turns his back on her. Slowly, laboriously, he stirs the dishes with a mop. But ever so gently, ever so impersonally and tactfully, he sings to himself:)I-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi-love-her-mi-fa-sol-la-sol-fa-and-she-sol-la-ci-do-ci-la—(Unseen by Jack, his Wife has wandered to the win¬dow. Idly, like a child, and nodding in tempo, she traces shapes with her finger. She stops, eyes Jack, looks down, looks up, and then moves towards the couch. He recommences, as though unaware of a change:)I-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi-love-her-mi-fa-sol-la-sol-fa-and-she-sol-la-ci-do-ci-la—(His Wife falters, and then sits down. She begins, most tentatively, to finger one of the cushions.)And-she-sol-la-ci-do-ci-la?(They exchange sidelong glances. Jack smiles; so does his Wife. He quickens the tempo of his tune and goes to the drawer:)loves-ci-do-ci-la-sol-fa-mi ?(He sends her a glance. She nods and he pulls open the drawer and gets her work basket:)loves-ci-do-ci-la-sol-fa-mi-loves-me-re-mi-re-do—(He hands her the basket with a touch of legerde¬main:)loves-me-re-mi-re-do.And-we-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi-love-us-re-mi-fa-mi-we-do.(Jack goes back to the kettle. His Wife begins to work on the cushions. He has to send her occasional glances of encouragement. Presently, he takes the broom, and, with what looks like obliviousness, sweeps with such vigorous strokes and such delicate finesse that a little pile of dust is gathered and deftly urged into a corner. With much twirling of the broom, and interruptions by way of bowing to the audience, ges¬ticulating and posturing, he has been offering the fol¬lowing, at the conclusion of which the broom is put away with an ecstatic sigh.)She has two green pillowson our black couch.They should be cerulean bolsterson a lemon silk divanand you would notchallenge me thatshe has two green pillowson our black couch,and I would notchallenge you that yourshas cerulean bolsterson your lemon silk divan.Have cerulean bolsterson your lemon silk divanand let us havetwo green pillowson our black couch.(His Wife seems not a little pleased with herself, so much so that when Jack sits down to help her with advice, she nudges him away. He can scarcely con¬trol his joy. To hide it, he concerns himself with imaginary chores, to a hummed version of his tune. Observing that his Wife has laid aside the cushions, he slyly attempts to pick up the curtains, but she snatches them away. He indulges a pantomime of angry, defeated pride, and then resorts to petting the pillows. His Wife does not object. He rocks the pillows in his arms, and attacks the audience with in¬sinuating tenderness.)We have many, many childrenI would sing you of,but you would not callthem any, any children.And what is it to you howmany, many children we have,so—why should I sing you ofany, any children we have?(Jack lays the pillows down. His Wife begins sew¬ing on the curtains. Tactfully, he renews his search for imagined chores. She motions him towards the window, and suggests washing it. Jack is so surprised she has to repeat her pointing several times. He nods in approbation, finds the mop and dips it in the kettle. The water is hot, assuredly. However, a glance of his, followed by a slow look, at the window, holds him back. With a gesture akin to reverence, he turns from the window, and comes close to the audience. In strict, prayerful confidence, to which his Wife listens, doubtfully, and then slowly bows her head, and sews.)Our window is stainedwith the figures she has blown on it.Our window is stainedwith the figures she has blown on itwith her breath.Our window is stainedwith the figures she has blown on itwith her breathon which a spirit has blown—A spirit? a saint? a sprite?who was itblew figures on her breaththat our window is stainedwith the figures she has blown on it?(Jack goes back to the window, but he exerts extreme care in his efforts not to wipe out the figures. His Wife has finished the curtains; she steals behind him. Jack stands there in utter contemplation, but as she approaches, comes back to the situation and tries to anticipate her purpose by taking the curtains. She bluntly denies him any part in the hanging. With mock resignation Jack permits himself to be overruled. But while his Wife hangs the curtains, he confides his ecstasy to the audience.)She likes to make shades,yellow shades for the window,but if you ask her whyshe likes to make shades,yellow shades for the window,she would not tell you whyshe likes to make shades,yellow shades for the window,except that she likes to.If you ask me whyshe likes to make shades,yellow shades for the window,I could tell you why,but you might think me proud,so I will not tell you whyshe likes to make shades,yellow shades for the window.(His Wife has finished hanging the curtains. She steals behind and touches him. Jack turns and lifts her gently off the floor for a mere moment. His happy, exhaustion becomes so apparent that his Wife has to lead him to the couch and deposit him there—almost like a child. He does not resist. She snuggles down beside him. Together, they look about the room. Jack, to his Wife:)This roomis our cradle.It will rockin our memoryno matter whatwe grow to.(As the curtain falls, they can be heard humming the strain of I-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi.)